Resplendence
by sharingank
Summary: Inoue Orihime never anticipated finding happiness someplace else, but fate, it seems, operates in strange ways. IshiHime. Current manga spoilers.


Well, folks, here it is. My first ever IshiHime fic. I adore this pairing so much. XD Written for _Alena S. Anigor_. Hope y'all enjoy!

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****Resplendence**

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Inoue Orihime has never considered herself a brave person. 

How can she be, when she derives all of her strength from others? After her brother died, she would've withered away, become a wraith, a fleeting shadow, if not for Tatsuki's steadfastness. Time and again, Kurosaki-kun rose up, defeated the obstacles placed before him even if those obstacles defeated him first. Rukia faced death, looked it straight in the eye, for a cause that should not have been her own. She _made_ it hers. Sado, Matsumoto, Hitsugaya, Renji…

Their courage infuses her, their deeds inspire her. She sees, and she _becomes_.

That is not bravery. It is imitation.

"_Touch her, and I'll kill you. The next shot won't miss." _

But she cannot imitate the way he glows, so bright, the way the bow sings in his hands, the way his eyes harden behind his glasses, deep and dark and agate, unyielding, unflinching.

Someday, Orihime hopes to stand on her own.

_"Why do you feel like you're worthless? Thoughts like those are your greatest enemy, Inoue-san."_

"_Orihime, get up. Now. Get up. Take responsibility for your actions. You're the only one who can." _

"_I have faith in you. I know what you're capable of. Soar, Hime…"_

And yet, someday doesn't seem so far away anymore.

---

Ishida Uryuu is no stranger to the exquisite.

From childhood, he has possessed an eye for fashion. He enjoys making ordinary things appear extraordinary. He adds a special touch, a certain flair, that is all _him_.

He sews. It is the perfect means for an archer to hone his precision, though Uryuu does not use that as an excuse. He likes to create. He likes to watch needle and thread and fabric metamorphose into a masterpiece.

In her own right, Orihime _is_ a masterpiece, and Uryuu knows that frills and accessories don't give her the illusion of beauty. The beauty is already there. It does not require decoration.

She is a living, breathing work of art, and she fascinates him as she pressures him, because she is the ultimate test of his ability. The moment his efforts yield a garment that fails to wilt beneath the radiance of her spirit, he'll consider himself accomplished.

"…Ishida-kun, this top really is a bit too tight. I feel like I'm going to pop out of it any second. Are the seams pulling?"

As of now, he is resigned to the fact that he has embarked upon a lifelong project.

Her bust is quite the colossal hurdle.

---

Once you believe, firmly, that you'll endure the pain of unrequited love forever, dissuading yourself of the notion is difficult, sometimes impossible, unless you're given a reason to abandon your convictions.

Orihime loved Kurosaki Ichigo, loved him with a ferocity she didn't realize she had, and she just couldn't bear to let go of him. He ignited her will to fight, and she is more proud of him than words can express.

She knows he cares for her as a friend, a sister, a comrade, and he'll be there for her when she needs him, but she also knows the extent of his regard stops at the heart. She is invaluable to him, yes, however the one thing she desires most he cannot give her, because it rests in the hands of another.

Orihime is not resentful by nature, and she blames nobody except herself. Perhaps, had she revealed her feelings earlier, the outcome might have been different, but it is too late to dwell on what has since passed. His happiness is her happiness, and if Rukia is the source, so be it.

But she still loved him. She still longed for him. She still kept his image fresh in her memory, a constant companion, a guiding force, a path on which she treaded willingly.

A path that ended at Hueco Mundo.

"You have roused Aizen-sama's interest. He sent me to fetch you."

She followed Ulquiorra, not as a hero, not as a damsel in distress, but as a girl with limited options and her back against the wall. She did not require rescuing, and as such, she did not expect to be rescued.

She almost laughed at the irony of it. Hadn't she wanted to prove herself useful? Hadn't she wanted to enter the battlefield as a warrior, eyes hard, looking straight at death?

This was a war. She hoped Kurosaki-kun understood that. She hoped they all understood.

"Now that you are mine, little flower, you will do as I tell you," Aizen had purred, his hand caressing her cheek, deceptively gentle. "You will be my puppet."

Orihime was reminded of how false her bravery truly is. She suffered something worse than fear in Aizen's clutches.

Despair.

_I'll die here, _she remembered thinking. _It's over…_

She was numb. She complied blankly, her motions robotic, trance-like.

_Traitor…you're aiding the enemy. You're worthless._

"Get up, Orihime. Now. Get up. Take responsibility for your actions. You're the only one who can."

She is curled up in a corner, falling in on herself, lank strands of hair plastered to her skin, and there he is, a divine creature, a deadly, shining beacon, clad all in white, his bow singing in his hands.

"I'm not here to save you," he says, voice deep, thrumming with power. "Get up. Save yourself."

He isn't lying. She reads the resolve in his expression. If she chooses to die, he'll let her. He won't intervene, he won't save her.

And she doesn't want him to. What was the point of him risking everything to be here, at this crossroads, were she to depend on him to rectify her mistakes?

"Ishida-kun…"

He trusts her to do the right thing. She won't betray that trust. She can't.

Orihime gets up.

---

Uryuu loves everything about her.

He loves the way she looks at the world, naïvely, yet seeped with hints of profound maturity.

"People are a lot like birds. They stretch their wings and they fly, but part of them always returns to the nest sooner or later."

He loves the smile she shows him in the morning while she's making coffee and he stumbles into the kitchen, drawn by the aroma and the knowledge that she's puttering around in the nightshirt that cuts off just below her bum—when she bends over, he catches a glimpse of panty, so he drops a spoon or a fork intentionally and asks her to retrieve it. She complies with that smile, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and he has to retreat to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. "At least you're awake," she says mischievously.

He loves the way her hair feels when he slides his fingers through it, thick and velvety and relatively free of tangles. The color, while similar to Ichigo's, is richer, more vibrant, and it excites him. He plays with it as often as she allows, attacking with combs and pins and clips, and she jokingly refers to him as her personal hairdresser. He's fine with that. Left up to him, she'll never step foot inside a salon again.

He loves the sounds she makes when he pleasures her, some breathy and soft, some low and intense, and some so loud and piercing the neighbors' dog barks in response. Kind of embarrassing when that happens, but Uryuu's usually too busy patting himself on the back to care all that much.

Above everything else, however, he loves to hear her say his name.

At first, she stuck to Ishida-kun, because she was a traditional type of girl, and she confessed she felt odd addressing him in any other way while they were still in the "getting to know you" stage of their relationship. Uryuu found her propriety adorable and vexing in turns, because, were he to be honest, her inability to call him by his given name made him paranoid.

He knew about her feelings for Ichigo. She told him early on, and insisted she wouldn't blame him if he were uncomfortable with that.

"I don't want you to think you're a replacement, Ishida-kun. I really _do_ like you, but I just…"

Just? Just? Just what? Just want Kurosaki? Uryuu was not Kurosaki. Uryuu enjoyed sewing and wore glasses and was commonly classified as a geek. Kurosaki was the idiot everyone gravitated toward, didn't wear glasses, and didn't sew because sewing is a girly habit—Uryuu begs to differ, of course.

And this replacement business was intolerable. Uryuu wasn't _replacing_ anybody.

"No, no, don't trouble yourself, Inoue-san." _Inoue-san_! Oh, foul hypocrite! He felt his face heat up. He's a stickler for tradition as well, apparently. "Whenever you're ready…"

What if he wasn't good enough? What if she was humoring him out of…of…_pity_? His Quincy pride quailed at the idea.

He knew what his father would say.

"_Idiot boy. This is how you waste your time, being strung along by the wiles of some dimwitted female…"_

But Orihime wasn't 'some dimwitted female.' Far from it. She had completely bewitched him.

His doubts were assuaged one afternoon, as they lie sprawled beneath a sakura tree, the blossoms in full bloom, his head pillowed in her lap.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" He'd remarked, half drunk on the sweet scent.

"Mm." She stroked his hair, silent for a moment, and then she leaned down, her mouth brushing his ear. "Thank you for believing in me, Uryuu."

To this day, he hasn't tired of hearing his name on her lips. It's a sign that she has claimed him as her own.

He only calls her Orihime when he's angry.

Otherwise, she's his Hime.

---

They watch the moon together. She wears the pink terrycloth bathrobe he made for her as an anniversary gift. It's warm, and big, and it shields her from the icy wind. He has his hands on either side of her waist, and his chin rests in the dip amid neck and shoulder. Periodically, he kisses the skin there, and she smiles.

"Do you think a man lives in the moon?" She asks, to see if he's paying attention.

His kisses move to her jaw. "No," he murmurs. "The moon's an egotist. It won't share its splendor with a human."

Orihime laughs. "But you must've wondered too, to come up with an answer like that."

"Yes," he concedes, lips near the corner of her mouth, "I've wondered."

And that's all he says on the matter, because in the next instant, he sweeps her off her feet and carries her inside, and she can't help but feel a little relieved that she isn't the only individual who considers the truth behind fairytales.

---

He recalls the exact moment he discovered she had disappeared with clarity.

Or, more accurately, he recalls the rage that clouded his vision, the sharp ache that tore through his chest as he breathed.

_She isn't a traitor. She had to have a motive. She wouldn't agree unless she had no other choice. She's protecting us. She isn't a traitor. She isn't._

Uryuu and Orihime are similar. They have both been liabilities once. They have both suffered weakness when excellence was crucial. They have both sought with all their might to achieve greatness, greatness of mind, greatness of heart, greatness of spirit.

Uryuu is close. Losing and regaining his powers, his _essence_, has taught him patience. It has taught him when to attack and when to retreat. It has taught him when to be ruthless and when to be merciful. It has taught him when to offer his aid, when to withdraw it, and when to accept it from others.

It has taught him the meaning of strength.

Orihime is a fledgling. She's not ready to stand alone…but she will be. She has the potential. He's seen it.

And he'll find her. He'll show her it exists, so that eventually, she won't need him, or anyone, to point it out.

---

Inoue Orihime never anticipated finding happiness someplace else, but fate, it seems, operates in strange ways.

She has learned, however, and she isn't fool enough to question good fortune.


End file.
